


Solo

by mistr3ssquickly



Category: Star Wars Episode IV: A New Hope
Genre: Fluff, I'm starting to think I have a hang-up about virginity in this fandom, M/M, Unrepentant porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-20
Updated: 2016-04-20
Packaged: 2018-06-03 11:56:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6609796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mistr3ssquickly/pseuds/mistr3ssquickly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four times Han Solo tried to get laid and that one time Luke Skywalker kind of took his virginity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Solo

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HockityPockity](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HockityPockity/gifts).



The first time Han Solo tries to get laid, he’s fifteen years old and breathless from making out with Riara, a Bivalli girl with a helluva reputation as something of a loose woman and wicked pair of hands that lend credence to that reputation, their touch getting his heart pounding in mere minutes like he’s taken a freefall off the top of the seedy spaceport they’ve sneaked into for some privacy to mess around. He has his hands on her breasts and his mouth pressed against her neck when she unzips his trousers and touches his cock for the first time, and she knows what she’s doing, just like the rumors say, which means Han chokes on a moan and comes all over her, even before he’s managed to get her shirt off or her skirt up to see if the rumors he’s heard about the wonders hidden between her legs are true.

Riara laughs at him and wipes her hands on his trousers and calls after him _I won’t tell anyone, honest!_ when he leaves in a shame-faced hurry, and, true to her word, she doesn’t tell anyone but it doesn’t do anything for the burning embarrassment that reduces Han to tears once he’s hidden away in his bedroom, disappointed and humiliated and infuriated.

He jerks off a lot, after that. Learns how to hold off from coming quite so fast, body knowledge giving him stamina he can be proud of under the touch of his own hand, at least.

\---

The second time Han tries to get laid, he’s seventeen years old and flirting his way through a game of dice on some backwater planet in the Outer Rim, out of money and far from home and only sweating a little at the thought of what awaits him when he finally manages to get enough winnings scraped together to hitch a ride back to Corellia on a ship that isn’t more likely than not to sell him to the slavers. He wins the round he’s playing and gets up to leave, knowing better than to try to win too many times at one establishment, only to be stopped by the Thyferran whose wallet he just lightened through luck and maybe just a little bit of unethical operation, her big grey eyes and soft, plush breasts even more compelling up close than they were across the table, making his heart-rate pick up and his cock stir in his pants when she leans close enough to breathe across his ear an offer of more money than he could possibly hope win at dice in exchange for spending the evening with her on her ship.

Han is sorely, _deeply_ tempted, but there’s something _off_ about it, something in her eagerness to take him to bed, too strong for what he knows he can -- and can’t -- offer her that spells trouble, so he swallows around his aching libido and turns her down in favor of slipping through the shadows to the next gambling hall, delaying his return to Corellia by at least two more days, but he _does_ get to go home, unlike the Rodian he saw the Thyferran approaching later that night, the same Rodian whose body shows up Han’s final morning planetside, sorely abused and devoid of several important organs, the Thyferran long gone when what passes for a security force shows up to investigate.

He’s growing into what he thinks is a pretty handsome man when he considers himself in the reflector, but the galaxy is full of swindlers and crooks and the thought of letting any of them anywhere near the body he’s grown rather fond of keeping in one piece makes his skin crawl.

\---

The third time Han tries to get laid, he’s twenty and drinking a pitiful substitute for Whyren’s Reserve with the man who just lost an impressive old freighter to Han over a lousy drunken game of sabacc, Han’s blood humming with the rush of his winnings and the buzz of alcohol as he reaches across to slide his hand up the man’s thigh, squeezing where his cock is warm and thick against the seam of his trousers, clearly not disinterested in Han’s touch. It helps that the man -- _Lando,_ he introduced himself at the start of the game, _intergalactic entrepreneur and Captain of the Millennium Falcon_ \-- is _devastatingly_ attractive, warm eyes and dark skin and a voice that Han could listen to for _hours_ and not grow tired of it, Lando’s lips soft against his when they kiss for the first time, a sticky-hot thrill blossoming at the base of his spine when Lando slips his tongue into Han’s mouth, no rush or urgency to it.

Han drags him back to his newly acquired ship with the full intention of fucking him or getting fucked _by_ him or _both, goddamn,_ but ends up comforting the guy instead when the reality of loss and the alcohol they’ve been drinking all night apparently conspire to overwhelm him, the lascivious grin on Lando’s supple, heavenly mouth melting into a look of heartbreak when Han slides into the captain’s flight-seat and tugs him into his lap, Lando hiccuping drunken tears instead of rocking his hips while Han pats him awkwardly on the back, his cock going soft in his trousers under what _had_ been Lando’s promising warm weight, sympathy for the heart-felt upset in Lando’s sobs only barely overriding irritation and frustration and aborted desire only for a precious few minutes before Lando stops crying and gets _mad,_ trying to take a swing at Han for, as he puts it, _stealing my goddamn girl you soulless sonuvabitch,_ the fight drunken and graceless and blessedly brief, both of them lying on the floor of the cockpit when Chewbacca comes in and finds them lying side-by-side, bruised up and a little bloodied and, because Han’s life is _just like that,_ fast friends because of it.

He doesn’t sleep with Lando after that, on principle, but he offers plenty and gets Lando good ‘n worked up more than a few times before leaving him to take care of himself, because if there’s one thing Han Solo excels at (other than sabacc), it’s holding a grudge and drawing out revenge for a very, _very_ long time.

\---

The fourth time Han tries to get laid, he’s twenty-five and feeling exceptionally short among the clan of Wookiees seated around him in the cool twilight of the main northern island on Kashyyyk, filling his cup with something strong and his ear with stories about Chewbacca as a cub that would undoubtedly be making Chewbacca blush if the big guy weren’t covered head-to-toe in a pelt he’s groomed up nice for the evening, none of the mats and tangles present that Han’s grown used to seeing, the silky russet shine broken only by a bandage wrapped around Chewbacca’s upper arm, a souvenir from a lucky blaster shot fired off by a slaver that Han _personally_ sent down to the gates of hell, courtesy the knife he’s taken to keeping in his boot lately, the pleasure of slitting the scum’s throat still rumbling in the base of Han’s soul, his affections for Chewbacca as strong as ever, and amplified beyond that by whatever he’s drinking.

Chewie later confesses that _that_ was no accident, that the drink served was intended to help Han relax so that he could be thanked appropriately by the clan for his efforts on their behalf, their thanks coming in the form of Chewbacca’s half-sister, whom everyone in his clan agreed was the most attractive among the eligible wookiees, and because Chewbacca’s a good friend and an upstanding soul he doesn’t even complain when Han throws a boot at him for it, Han’s face burning with what feels like a permanent blush over the memory of the amorous wookiee only accepting Han’s gentle rejections of her advances when she got him stripped out of his clothes well enough to have a look at his genitals, her voice loud enough for the _entire goddamn clan to hear_ as she declared his penis to be too small to be of use to _anyone,_ wookiee or otherwise. It wasn’t even _hard,_ maybe even a little shrunken in on itself from the cool of the Kashyyyk evening and the intimidating prospect of losing his virginity to a seven-foot-tall creature strong enough to rip his limbs off with no effort, but saying that out loud wasn’t something Han was interested in doing that evening and saying it even in the private of the _Falcon’s_ cockpit with only Chewie around to hear him won’t do a damn thing to heal his devastated pride, so he hauls off his other boot and chucks it at Chewbacca’s head instead and slinks into his bunk to drink the shit brandy he bought on their last stop and hate the world in private.

He develops a _thing_ for bed-partners who are shorter than himself, after that. Which isn’t all that much of a hardship -- he’s no shrimp, grown nice and tall over the years, but. Still. Feels like he’s had his choices taken away.

\---

The fifth time the opportunity presents itself for Han to get laid, he’s not even _trying_ to get laid, he’s really more interested in passing out and sleeping for a year, at least, exhausted and sore and stumbling over his own stupid feet as he crosses his bunk to hang an honest-to-god _medal of honor_ off the corner of a chair in a goddamn Rebel Alliance base, tucked away on Yavin IV of all god-forsaken planets, his feet sore from standing up too long while the pilots and engineers and strategists and other assorted idealists applauded him for doing _exactly_ what he’d sworn -- to himself, to Chewbacca, to the sandy-haired Jedi wannabe _brat_ \-- he wasn’t going to do, Leia’s smug, knowing smirk and Luke’s bashful, adoring smile still clawing at his memory when he opens his door at the sound of a quiet knock and finds none other than Luke Skywalker himself standing there in the corridor, the very picture of Jedi calm, his hands clasped in front of him and shoulders set back, chin upturned just enough for him to meet Han’s eyes.

“I wanted to thank you,” he says when Han says hi and asks what Luke wants, not really caring if Luke doesn’t want anything in particular, too tired to try to guess at what might have the guy standing outside his bunk at such a late hour, “for coming back and saving me. We would have lost everything, if it hadn’t been for you.”

He’s practiced this speech, Han can tell, which is equal parts adorable and ridiculous, the protective, possessive feelings he’s been developing for Luke lately _despite his best efforts to the contrary_ welling up in him like laughter in his throat. He cants his shoulders in an uneven shrug and shoots for a grin he’s pretty sure wouldn’t fool a moron, which Luke -- contrary to his earlier beliefs -- actually _isn’t,_ leaning against the doorframe mostly because it means he doesn’t have to hold himself up but partly because it lets him get closer to Luke, which is where he wants to be more often than he cares to admit.

“Glad it all worked out,” he says.

Luke exhales on a laugh and drops his gaze, shaking his head. The lights in the corridor bring out the mouse-brown undertones of his hair and Han wants -- deeply, irrationally -- to run his fingers through it.

He opens his door wide instead and orders Luke to come in instead of loitering out in the hall like a stray felinx, his heart thrumming with uncertainty only until Luke looks at him, looks at his mouth, and then closes the distance between them in a single step, pressing his mouth against Han’s in a simple, chaste kiss. Han gets his hand in Luke’s hair like he wanted to out in the hallway and feels Luke’s answering small noise of pleasure vibrate against his lips, the hint of something cool on Luke’s tongue when he presses forward, licking at Luke’s teeth. Tastes like a breath-mint, of all the adorable, unsubtle things, which makes Han feel pretty confident about dropping his hands to the curve of Luke’s ass and squeezing, Luke responding by reaching between them to unbutton Han’s shirt, kissing with far more skill than Han had anticipated he’d have, not nearly as distracted as Han thinks, absently, that he _should_ be, moving his hands lower to tug at Han’s belt once he’s got Han’s shirt open, his fingers deft and talented, a blessing of friction when they wrap around Han’s cock the first time, stroking slow and almost thoughtful while Han sets about stripping Luke nude, Luke’s preference for the fashions of Tatooine making the task delightfully simple, his naked body a work of art to Han’s lust-fogged gaze.

“I want to make love to you,” Luke informs him, startling Han out of the reverie he’d sunk into at the sight of Luke’s cock, longer and thicker than he’d assumed it would be, given Luke’s overall build and small, clever hands. “If you’re interested.”

The outdated phrase and polite tone make Han laugh, embarrassed for Luke’s obvious naivete, Luke’s old-fashioned backwardness, which earns him an almost-pout from Luke, also at odds with the erection in Han’s hand and the hands on Han’s cock, the mess of clothing strewn around them like casualties in a war against Han’s frankly ridiculous abstinence. He pulls Luke close with a suggestive tug of his hand on Luke’s cock, nestling their erections together between their bodies. Has to duck his head down to press a kiss against the downturn of Luke’s mouth, which feels deeply intimate, almost romantic, for all that Han doesn’t _do_ romantic.

“Sure, I could go for a fuck,” he says, leaning his forehead against Luke’s, rocking his hips experimentally to see if he can get friction by doing it. He can, but it’s more friction from the head of Luke’s cock rubbing against his abs, so he steps back and drags Luke over to his bunk, rifling through the box of stuff he brought on base with him from the _Falcon_ for the bottle of slick he carries around out of a mixed sense of optimism and practicality. He doesn’t falter when he rights himself and finds Luke sitting in his bunk, nude and erect still, watching him, but it takes some effort, his woeful lack of experience and the overwhelming _desire_ he feels when he looks at Luke Skywalker making him feel the inexperience he’s gathered and hoarded like unwanted treasure over the years, anxiety licking at the corners of his consciousness like flames at dry grasses as he climbs into the bunk and pulls Luke close for a kiss.

Kissing he can do, and do _well,_ Luke moaning into his mouth as Han licks and bites at him, stretching out onto his back and pulling Luke with him when his legs start to go numb, folded under him. He drags his fingertips down Luke’s side and gets a full-body shiver out of Luke for it, Luke’s skin going rough with gooseflesh, sensitive enough for Han to get another shiver out of him when he drags his fingers up Luke’s other side, swallowing the little noise of pleasure Luke makes in response, doing his best to keep Luke close when Luke starts to pull away, the brief struggle that results generating wonderful friction between them, Han’s cock going slick as Luke sits back, flushed and licking his lips, his hair messy and falling in his eyes.

“How do you want it?” he says, pressing a kiss to the inside of Han’s knee, a sappy gesture that Han finds he really, _really_ likes.

“Doesn’t matter,” Han says, hoping to whatever gods might hang around a dinky little place like Yavin IV that Luke won’t press him on his preferences. “You know me, I’m an easy-goin’ guy.” He grins up at Luke and spreads his legs wide, enjoying the way Luke looks down straight away, then darts his gaze away as if he’s not allowed to look or something, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows. “Do your worst.”

Luke, for once, does exactly as he’s told. Only it’s _not_ the worst, it’s incredibly good, giving Han the sinking feeling that Luke’s maybe not a virgin, his resolve firming like layers of duracrete that Luke _never, ever_ know that he’s poised to be the one to take Han’s virginity.

He doesn’t ask any more questions, which is nice, and he’s impatient, just like he is when he’s flying or sparring or asking questions or getting shot at (though he’s excused when he’s getting shot at, getting shot at _sucks),_ but he either knows what he’s doing or he’s some kind of sexual genius, because he gets his fingers good and slick before he slips them down between their bodies, rubbing his fingertips over the sensitive skin of Han’s ass until Han’s breathless with anticipation, leaking a mess on his own belly. Luke _pushes_ without prelude or warning, sinking his middle finger into Han’s body up to the second knuckle, the stretch and pressure and friction sharp in counterpoint to the gentle warmth of his mouth as he sucks at Han’s thighs and belly, licking the length of his cock every so often, just to be a complete tease. He doesn’t hesitate on the second finger he pushes into Han, either, despite the stretch that almost kind of hurts but isn’t unfamiliar, Han’s own hands frequent participants in his very solo sex-life, leaning in to suck shallowly at the head of Han’s cock when he slips Han a third finger -- the middle finger of his left hand joining the index and middle of his right, his knuckles pressing hard into Han’s perineum, which is all kinds of exactly what Han never imagined he needed -- and starts stretching Han with less care and more urgency, his mouth sloppy on Han’s cock and hands working Han into dizzying distraction, his breath coming fast as Luke opens and stretches and sucks him, focused and intent in the way Han’s more accustomed to seeing him at the controls of a starship.

All the same, he asks _permission_ before fucking Han into next week like he and Han both _obviously_ want him to do, and when Han growls _just fuck me already_ at him in answer, he has the nerve to look _relieved,_ the rapid rise-and-fall of his chest as he reaches down to slick himself -- the image of which Han is pretty sure will be seared into his memory for the rest of his natural lifespan, gods willing -- betraying his urgency, his arousal. He bites his lip and presses the head of his cock against Han’s hole and _pushes,_ sinking in a few inches, probably as deep as his fingers could reach, before Han’s body tightens down on him, then rocks his hips in a gentle, steady motion until Han’s body relents, letting him go deeper. Shudders all over when he’s in deep enough to press against Han’s prostate, dragging a groan from Han’s throat.

“Good,” Han says when he feels Luke shift to look up at him, the question obviously forming on Luke’s swollen lips, probably horribly worded and awkward and _not_ what Han wants to hear when he’s busy enjoying having a cock up his ass for the first time. “Gods be _damned,_ Luke, you feel _good.”_

Luke has the audacity to _blush_ at that, his fair complexion as subtle as summer on Tatooine, but he doesn’t say anything beyond _so do you,_ his attention blessedly returned to his (thick, good _gods,_ who would’ve guessed?) cock and what he’s doing with it, working it in and out of Han’s body in an almost inquisitive rhythm, Luke’s muscles flexing as he shifts to push from a slightly different angle, as he draws back further for a deeper thrust, as he arches his back and tips his chin up, a long, soft sound pulling from his throat that makes Han tighten around him, full and stretched open and more aroused than he’s been in recent memory.

He doesn’t consciously think to reach down and touch himself when Luke starts to truly fuck him, curling over him and pushing his erection in on long, deep thrusts, breathing hard and moaning quietly, the heat and intimacy of it doubling when Han slips his hand between them to stroke his cock, familiar friction bringing the other sensations into sharp, bright focus, the warm caress of Luke’s panting breath over Han’s chest, the stretch and fullness of him moving inside Han’s body, the hard muscle under sweat-sticky skin where Han’s thighs touch Luke’s sides, cradling him, keeping him close. It keeps him from coming, for all that it feels good, feels _wonderful,_ the strangeness of being moved as he masturbates keeping him back from the edge of orgasm, the pressure of Luke’s cock moving in him distracting him from the burn of completion. Which he doesn’t mind, once he realizes he’s not going to come, the strangeness of prolonging the pleasure at its heightened point making him groan, happy to lie back and let Luke fuck him, his hand moving on its own, keeping him right where he wants to be.

“Are you close?” Luke wants to know after a long, breathless minute, sounding far more coherent than Han would like him to sound, so Han answers _yeah_ in the hopes that it’ll make Luke do that arch-up thing again and maybe come in him, because seeing Luke goddamn Skywalker at the peak of pleasure is something he’s very, _very_ interested in experiencing. Of course, because Luke’s stubborn and never does what he’s supposed to do (or not do, as the case may be), he curls in on himself and pushes his chest against Han’s legs, changing the angle just enough to fuck Han deeper, and there’s something about the new angle, the way Luke bites his lower lip as he fucks, that makes Han’s cock _ache,_ his balls pulling up tight, orgasm suddenly a very immediate reality, spiralling down his spine with alacrity Han’s not felt since he was a teenager.

He comes all over himself precious ten seconds later, jerking his cock with no finesse or grace whatsoever, semen smearing across his belly and splattering up to his chest, his ass tightening down around Luke’s cock as he comes, making it feel even bigger than it did already, Luke’s rhythm falling apart some as Han bucks against him, mindless and riding instinct as he fucks his own hand through the aftershocks of orgasm. He smears semen on Luke’s arm, pulling Luke down for a kiss that’s more panting breath than skill, Luke whimpering into his mouth and pulling away from him and shaking all over like he’s coming apart for the long blessed seconds before he squeezes his eyes tightly shut and goes deathly still, his cock throbbing like a heart’s beating as he hits his peak, a broken sound escaping his lips as Han moves under him, fucking himself on Luke’s cock through the waves of Luke’s orgasm.

Luke doesn’t collapse on him entirely, afterwards, but it’s a near thing, his voice hoarse as he starts to say something inane about _are you okay was I too rough,_ muffled effectively enough when Han kisses him, careful to keep their mouths close as he angles himself away from the now-unpleasant feel of Luke inside him, Luke distracted well enough to not notice Han wince at the scrub of still-hard flesh against hyper-sensitive skin as he slides out, thick and messy and wet.

“Stay,” Han says, pointing his finger in Luke’s face once he’s rolled Luke off of him and climbed out of the bunk, the mess of sweat and semen smeared over what feels like his entire body starting to really detract from what has otherwise been a very pleasant evening.

“Okay,” Luke says, lying back down with obedience Han doesn’t trust. He’s quick in the ‘fresher because of it, ready to hunt Luke down and drag him back to bed if he comes back out and finds his bunk empty, but Luke’s still there when he comes out, the blanket pulled up over his body but his clothes still in a rumpled mess on the floor, which means he’s nude when Han joins him in bed, a look of delight gracing his face when Han kisses him, as if he thought Han’d be a grump after sex or something.

“Well, that was better’n a medal any day,” Han says, pulling Luke down to be cuddled, which takes more effort than he’s expecting, like Luke doesn’t know how to cuddle or something.

“What was?”

Han sighs. “Nothin’.”

“I didn’t -- this wasn’t because --”

“Joke, kid.”

Luke frowns. He’s a damn good lay, but he’s shit at cuddling, pushing himself up on his arm and looking down at Han with an expression far too serious for someone who just got off. “I’m not a kid,” he says.

Han yawns. He feels like he’s done the Kessel Run on foot. It’s not a bad feeling. “M’kay,” he says. “Still gonna call you that, though.” He can almost _hear_ Luke rolling his eyes, but Luke gives up and lies back down without Han jostling him into it, so Han lets it go, happy to settle into the haze of half-sleep that covers them like a fog, Luke heavy and warm beside him.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_Notes_ :

I read a [super-depressing story](http://archiveofourown.org/series/406195) about Luke being all lonely and self-hating and celibate (gorgeously written, don’t get me wrong, but godDAMN depressing) and needed something to make me feel better. This is what came of _that_ particular urge. Also, in case anyone is keeping score, I’d like to point out for the record that it’s really _odd_ to write Han as a virgin, because canon he seems like the type who’s fucked over half the galaxy and just straight-up fucked the other half, but hey, I always like a challenge, and the thought of Han Solo -- all swagger and sex-on-legs -- being a virgin until he’s 29 and has Luke Skywalker in his bed makes me laugh at inappropriate times, and makes me laugh way too _much_ at those inappropriate times.

Mostly, though, I just wanted to write Luke happy and loved and Han being the one to love on him. TFA was great, got me into _Star Wars,_ all that -- but god _damn_ Han’s a miserable sonuvabitch in it, Luke doesn’t even _talk,_ and sometimes a woman just needs the characters she loves to be happy and safe and loved. *nod*

(This is all HockityPockity’s fault. She linked me to the sad story with Luke _not getting laid_ in the first place. You can go thank her for this flufftastic evidence of my devastating _heartbreak.)_

(Also-also, Lando, baby, ilu and I’m sorry you’re unhappy in this story, I will write something steamy for you next I promise.)

(Also-also- _also,_ Chewie is arguably THE worst wing-man in the history of wing-men but we love him anyway.)

(And I haven’t given up on _All Together, All Alone,_ just it’s so much plot that I needed a moment to write some smut. Anyone mind? Didn’t think so.)


End file.
